


Her Way

by chlnymphadora



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlnymphadora/pseuds/chlnymphadora
Summary: Elizabeth Beckett spent her childhood in her family's circus, stealing from the guests. When it burns down, she flees to Paris and finds herself in the court of miracles, doing what she knows best - stealing from the rich. But when she steals from Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers, Elizabeth finds herself a recruit within the regiment - the first and only female in its history.Three years later and D'Artagnan arrives causing even more chaos for the young woman. Elizabeth struggles to keep her place in the regiment as her past resurfaces and the secrets she fought so hard to keep are revealed - all but ruining the relationships she made that meant so much to her.Follows Elizabeth through the events of all three seasons as she tries to make her way in a world, and a city, built for men.
Kudos: 1





	Her Way

* * *

**Paris, France – 1630**

**~ 0 ~**

* * *

Let it never be said that Paris was a quiet city.

It was, after all, the second largest city in Europe.

Elizabeth knew this. But the frustration she had at just how many people could possibly be in such a small area didn’t change.

She’d been trying to work her way through the market square for the past twenty minutes and was nowhere near getting to the other side. Stallholders kept yelling at her to buy something, waving hats, fabrics, fruits and even the odd fish at her to try and entice her into buying something.

Elizabeth was also very aware of the odd looks she kept getting from the people around her. It was no secret that Treville had let a young woman into his Musketeers and everyone seemed to have an opinion on it.

Well, everyone except for King Louis who seemed to be blissfully unaware of the entire situation.

Just as he was with the majority of things outside the palace.

She’d been with the Musketeers for almost three years and had become immune to the whispers, the judgemental stares and the constant rumours about her. It’d gotten to a point where the rumours were so wild and bizarre that Elizabeth wished they were true just so she could see the reaction to it.

Elizabeth groaned as she got shoved backwards as a young child stole a loaf of bread from a stall and charged through the crowd, the stallholder chasing after him, yelling for help. The young child skidded to a halt in front of her, his eyes drifting to her sword and pistols at her waist.

Elizabeth winked at him and stepped to the side, letting him squeeze through.

The young boy gave her the smallest smile and resumed running, dodging through legs, skirts and hooves.

Having grown beyond fed up with being stuck in the market square, Elizabeth resorted to shoving her way through the crowd, ignoring the snooty glares and curses thrown her way as she passed.

Most of the crowd saw her sword and moved out of her way, sending her a disdainful look in return as she barged through.

Elizabeth sighed loudly as she finally made it through to the other side and pushed the strands of hair that had fallen out the slightly dodgy ponytail she’d put it in and straightened her doublet. She tightened her ponytail and resumed walking down the street. A sword suddenly fell at her feet and she stopped, looking down at it with a puzzled expression on her face.

Elizabeth stepped back a step as a pistol followed suit. She sighed, recognising the pistols at her feet and tilted her head back.

“Aramis, what are you doing?”

Aramis, a fellow Musketeer who was like family to her, was holding onto a window ledge for dear life, his legs dangling down. People passing by looked up in a mixture of confusion and amusement at the man’s predicament after evidently having been almost caught where he probably shouldn’t have been.

“What does it look like?” Aramis grunted, re-adjusting his grip slightly as his arms began to tire.

Elizabeth let out an exasperated sigh and bent down to pick Aramis’ stuff up before someone came along stole it. She looked up, a smile overtaking her face, as she heard a deep chuckle approaching them. “Welcome to the show,” Elizabeth said, straightening up as Porthos and Athos joined them, both looking up at Aramis with a mixture of amusement and despair.

Aramis glanced down at the three of them and their amused faces and sighed, turning back to the window ledge. He dropped his head, looking down at the ground and then up at the windowsill.

“Well, this is going to hurt,” Aramis muttered.

* * *

**~ 0 ~**

* * *

“Why not Adele?”

Elizabeth turned to look at Aramis as they walked into the Garrison, a mixture of disbelief and despair on her face at the fact he even had to ask why.

“Oh, I don't know,” Porthos replied. “Let's think. Because she's the mistress of the most powerful man in France?”

“Gentlemen, I love her,” Aramis declared, sighing happily.

“You love her?” Athos asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or do you love stealing what belongs to the Cardinal?”

Elizabeth chuckled as she perched herself on the edge of the table, reaching over and snatching up an apple from the table.

'You four,” Treville said, the sudden appearance of his voice making Elizabeth jump slightly. “My office. Now.”

“He looks happy,” Aramis stated, glancing back at them, smiling sarcastically as he walked up the stairs.

“What’s Porthos done this time?” Elizabeth asked, glancing behind her at him.

Porthos frowned, looking offended. “Why me?”

“Because it usually is you,” Elizabeth replied, pulling open the door to Treville’s office and holding it open for them.

Treville had his back to them, frantically scribbling something down on one of the numerous pieces of parchment strewn across his desk. “I've had complaints,” he announced, not bothering to turn around to look at them. “An allegation you've been duelling with the Cardinal's Red Guards.” He finished writing and turned around to look at them. “Is it true?”

“Let me think…no, because that would be illegal,” Athos replied, effortlessly lying to his Captain.

Treville sighed, shaking his head slightly at the three men and their young recruit in front of him. “I can't protect you from the Cardinal if you keep fighting his men,” Treville replied.

He walked around his desk and braced himself on his desk, leaning on his hands. “Captain Cornet and his troop are missing,” Treville said, switching to the actual reason he’d called them in. “I need you to find out where they are."

Athos frowned and looked at Treville. “I thought you sent him to Chartres?”

“I did,” Treville replied. “He should have been back yesterday. There's been no word.”

“Well, what was he doing there?” Porthos asked, his face forming into a frown that matched Athos’.

Treville sighed and paused. He pressed his lips together and sighed again, straightening up. “He was carrying a number of…confidential items to an important meeting at the monastery.” He could see the confusion on their faces and shook his head. “Don’t bother asking me any more questions because I can't answer them. He was engaged in the King's work, that is all I can say.” Treville nodded at them. “Just get yourselves to Chartres and find out what’s happened.”

The three men turned to go, and Elizabeth slowly followed behind, knowing she’d probably have to stay behind.

“You too, Beckett,” Treville called as she reached the door.

Elizabeth turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in surprise. “Really?”

Treville nodded, trying to hide a smile at the excitement on her face. “Listen to everything Athos says, though, alright?”

Elizabeth nodded, quickly disappearing out the door. Porthos chuckled at her as she beamed at him and patted her on the back.

“Look at you,” he said, smiling. “We’ll have to stop calling you the recruit soon!”

“I doubt that’s ever going to stop,” she retorted.

* * *

**~ 0 ~**

* * *

It was always bizarre to head out to the country during winter. Mainly because it almost never snowed in Paris itself but almost always snowed out in the country. Elizabeth had her cloak tightly wrapped around her; the buttons done up all the way to her neck. Riding in the snow was nice in theory but it was actually really, really cold.

Elizabeth’s face was frozen cold, and her nose was running – it was beginning to really annoy her – and she’d never been so grateful for the thick woollen cloak she had on.

Upon arrival at the Monastery, Aramis jumped off his horse and walked up to the Abbot who was approaching them. Elizabeth dismounted her horse, wincing at the stiffness in her legs, and leant against her horse, relishing the warmth of him.

Aramis thanked the Abbot and turned back to face them, face grim. “He waited all night for Cornet and his men. They never appeared.”

“Well, a troop of musketeers can't just vanish into thin air,” Porthos replied, frowning.

“The Abbot was also told to expect a Spanish Envoy,” Aramis added, raising his eyebrow.

“Treville never mentioned anything about a Spanish Envoy,” Athos said, the hint of a frown appearing on his face.

“It doesn't matter,” Aramis cut in. “He didn't appear either.”

“Cornet is a fine soldier,” Porthos said suddenly, looking at them. “If he's gone missing, there's a good reason.”

Aramis sighed. “Or a bad one.”

Elizabeth looked between the three men. “That wasn’t at all ominous, Aramis,” she muttered, mounting her horse and grabbing the reins.

~ 0 ~

Elizabeth jumped off her horse and handed the reins to the stable hand, giving him an appreciative smile in return. She shook her hair out of its ponytail, roughly brushing the knots and tangles out with her fingers as she made her way over to the table.

“I'm looking for Athos!”

Elizabeth turned around, looking for the owner of the voice. It was a young man, not much older than her, who had yelled as he marched into the Garrison. He looked exhausted and clearly had travelled far judging from his dirty clothes and unkempt hair.

Athos turned and faced the man, an imperceivable expression on his face. “You've found him.”

The young man pulled out his pistol and clicked the safety off. “My name is D'Artagnan, of Lupiac in Gascony. Prepare to fight. One of us dies here.”

“Now, that's the way to make an entrance,” Aramis said, looking impressed at D’Artagnan’s confidence.

Elizabeth moved out of Athos’ way as he sighed and drew his sword, swinging it around a little. She stood next to a wooden pillar, putting one foot against it and leaning back on it.

“Can I ask why?” Athos inquired as D’Artagnan came to a stop a few metres from him.

“You murdered my father,” D'Artagnan replied.

“You’re mistaken. I'm not the man you're looking for,” Athos said.

“Murderer!” D’Artagnan yelled, charging forward at Athos.

Athos took a step back and blocked the man’s attack, immediately going on the defensive as D’Artagnan kept coming at him.

“Do you deny you shot Alexandre D'Artagnan two days ago in cold blood?” D'Artagnan demanded, his sword pointed ay Athos as they circled one another.

“I usually remember the men I kill. That name means nothing to me.”

“Then you're a liar as well!”

D’Artagnan lunged at Athos again and Athos effortless blocked the attack, meeting D’Artagnan’s sword with his own in a shower of sparks. The two continued their vicious dance around the yard. Athos kicked a basket of hay at D’Artagnan in an attempt to distract him, but D’Artagnan dodged it and moved to the side,

“Remarkable, he's keeping up with Athos!” Aramis exclaimed looking surprised. “Nah, he just doesn't want to hurt the lunatic,” Porthos replied, smiling.

“He’s nicer than me,” Elizabeth muttered, her eyes narrowed as she watched the fight closely, trying to pick up on Athos’ movements so she could practice later.

Athos managed to pin D’Artagnan against a wooden pole and shoved him against it, slamming a dagger into the wood beside him.

“That is enough!” Athos yelled. “That could have been your throat.” Athos released D'Artagnan and turned away from him. “I didn't kill your father and I don't want to kill you. Don’t make me kill you over a mistake.”

Athos walked over to them, heading for their table. Elizabeth looked up as D’Artagnan pulled the dagger out of the wood and threw it at Athos.

“Athos!” Porthos yelled, and Athos moved to the side as the dagger flew past him. It embedded itself in the wood, inches away from Aramis’ hand. Elizabeth turned and looked at the dagger – which she’d felt fly past her ear – and slowly turned from it to look at D’Artagnan.

D'Artagnan picked up his sword and pointed it at Athos. “'And that could have been your back. Now fight me or die on your knees!' D’Artagnan yelled, taking a step forward. “I don't care which.” Athos didn't respond. D’Artagnan cocked his head to the side. “No?” He yelled as he ran at Athos, but his attack was blocked by Aramis who forced D’Artagnan’s sword down into the ground.

“He said enough,” Aramis said softly, a hint of warning in his words.

D'Artagnan nodded once. “Very well. I'll fight both of you.”

He raised his sword and launched at Aramis. Aramis pushed it to the side and D’Artagnan turned to face Athos. Athos blocked the attack, his sword going under D’Artagnan’s and forcing it onto the bench. Aramis put his sword on top, pining it down even more, and Porthos joined in. D’Artagnan went to lift his sword up from underneath the pile when a fourth sword landed on top of his. He looked up at Elizabeth as she suddenly appeared at Aramis’ side, a fed up expression on her face.

“Four of us?” Porthos asked, looking at him. “Now, for God's sake, put up your sword.”

D’Artagnan looked at them. “You'll have to kill me for it.”

Using both hands, D’Artagnan lifted his sword up from the bottom of the pile, swinging it around as he fought off the four swords pointed at him.

“You're a lively little bugger, aren't you!” Porthos exclaimed, blocking D'Artagnan' attack.

D’Artagnan turned and faced Aramis, lunging at him. Aramis blocked his attack easily and spun him to face Athos who did the same. D’Artagnan turned back to Porthos but he pushed D’Artagnan back, sword pointed at him as he pushed him against the stairs. D’Artagnan fell against the stairs, looking up at the four swords pointed at him as he tried to figure out a way to escape.

“Stop fighting all of you!”

Elizabeth frowned slightly as Constance’s voice echoed around the yard.

“Is four against one fair?” Constance demanded.

“We weren’t going to kill him,” Athos said, withdrawing his sword and turning around.

Porthos frowned and turned his head to look at Athos. “Weren’t we?”

“Next time let us know,” Aramis added, withdrawing his own sword.

“You ruin all my fun,” Elizabeth grumbled, shoving her own sword back into its scabbard.

Athos turned to look at Constance. “Madame Bonacieux, what are you doing here?”

“I followed him because I knew he was going to do something stupid,” Constance snapped, storming over to stand near D’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan grunted as he got up from the stairs. “I don’t need a woman to protect me,” he snapped.

“Don’t say another word,” Constance snapped back, glaring at him. “If only men would think, instead of fight. Then there might be some good ones left.”

“Amen to that,” Elizabeth muttered, perching herself on the edge of the table and swinging her legs back and forth.

“Him, I’m not sure about. Her, I like,” Aramis announced, pointing at Constance. Elizabeth groaned, exhaling a sigh of despair at Aramis. She looked up and frowned as Treville walked in, flanked by several Red Guards and Musketeers.

He looked at them all, his brow furrowing as he noticed D’Artagnan. “What’s going on?” Treville asked, looking at them for an explanation. Elizabeth avoid meeting Treville’s gaze, conveniently finding an interesting spot on the wall to look at. “Never mind, did you find Cornet?”

“He never made it do the monastery,” Athos replied. “Give us 20 men and we’ll search the road to Chartres.”

Treville sighed, a regretful look appearing on his face as he waved the Red Guards forward. “Athos, I’m sorry. These men have come to arrest you.”

Elizabeth stood up, standing next to Athos, hand on the pommel of her sword as Aramis and Porthos did the same, standing either side of her and Athos.

“You’re to appear before the King immediately, charged with robbery and murder,” Treville continued. He looked at Elizabeth, Aramis and Porthos, knowing they weren’t going to let Athos go quietly. “I promised them there’d be no trouble.”

Elizabeth sighed, pushing her sword back into its scabbard, stepping back a step. Athos sighed, handing his sword to Treville.

He turned to look at D’Artagnan – who’d been listening to everything. “I’m not the man you’re looking for,” he said.

“Why did my father name you before he died?!” D’Artagnan exclaimed, storming forward as Athos turned and walked off with the Red Guards.

“I don’t know,” Athos called, not looking back.

~ 0 ~

“This man, stands accused of highway robbery, assault and murder.” The Cardinal was flouncing around the room, pointing at Athos as he turned around and walked forward. “While Captain Treville looks the other way, his men riot in the streets.”

“The charges are false, Your Majesty,” Treville yelled, cutting the Cardinal off.

“There are witnesses,” the Cardinal cut in. He turned around and pointed at an older man with a bald head. “You! Tell the King what happened.” T

he man stepped forward, evidently either terrified or in awe of the King and the Cardinal. He clutched his hat to his chest and bowed down. “I own an inn. The Musketeer named Athos, and his men, robbed me and murdered two of my guests – Michael Fournier and a Gascon named Alexandre D’Artagnan.”

Elizabeth glanced at Aramis, raising an eyebrow at the mention of D’Artagnan’s father.

“I have never seen this man before in my life!” Athos yelled.

The Cardinal turned towards the next witness. This one was a young boy, not much younger than Elizabeth, who looked terrified of the Cardinal. “You.”

The boy stepped forward, glancing around nervously at the room full of soldiers and courtiers as well as the King and Queen. “I was driving my master and mistress home,” he said softly, clutching his hat tightly. “We were attacked by a bandit. He said his name was Athos. He shot them both.”

The Cardinal pointed at Athos. “Is this your assailant?”

The boy turned and looked at Athos, squinting slightly. “Yes, I believe so. He wore the same uniform.”

“Oh, this is a mockery of justice!” Treville yelled, shaking his head.

“There is not a word of truth in this!” Athos added. “These men are mistaken!”

The Cardinal walked up to the King. “Musketeers are not above the law,” he said. He looked at the King, lowering his head slightly. “Remember, Sire. The King’s judgment is infallible.”

The King nodded, straightening up in his chair. “Quite right. An example must be set.” The King paused for a moment, looking directly at Athos. “Take this Athos to the Chatelet. He will be executed at dawn.”

The King stood up before anyone could argue with him. Elizabeth bowed, lowering her head so that no one could see the anger in her eyes. The King walked past, Treville following. Elizabeth stood up and watched Athos being taken away by the Red Guards. Porthos nudged her and she looked at him. He nodded towards the door and she followed him out the room, her face expressionless as they passed the crowd of people.

“You assured me he was trustworthy!” The King exclaimed as Elizabeth came to a stop behind the Queen. “Do you realise what’s at stake?”

“There’s no need for panic,” Treville said quietly.

“I am not…” The King trailed off, and sighed. “I am not panicking,” he said, quieter this time. He looked at his wife. “This is your fault. You told me to be my own man.”

“We must let Captain Treville handle it,” the Queen replied. “He will not let us down.”

The King turned back to Treville. “The Cardinal must not find out about those letters. Do you understand? He must not know!” The King sighed. “Oh, you have disappointed me, Treville.” The King turned around and left without a further word.

Treville turned around and stormed towards Elizabeth and Porthos. “If you want to save Athos, find Cornet,” Treville ordered.

~ 0 ~

“Jacques-Michel Bonacieux at your service. Merchant in fine quality cloths and linens to the nobility. Perhaps you’ve… heard of me?”

D’Artagnan raised any eyebrow as he looked up at Bonacieux. He winced as Constance wrapped a bandage around his bruised ribs. “I’m afraid not,” D’Artagnan replied.

“Hmm.” Bonacieux leant on the mantlepiece, looking suspiciously at D’Artagnan. “So, how did you come by these injuries?”

“My injuries don’t matter,” D’Artagnan said softly, staring at the fireplace. “I’ve failed my father. I came to kill the man that murdered him, but all I’ve found is more questions. I can’t rest until I know the truth.”

“That’s lucky, because rest is out of the question,” Aramis announced, walking into the room.

D’Artagnan shot up from the chair, hand flying to the pommel of his sword as he stared at the three newcomers.

“Who, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Porthos said, holding out a hand. “We’re not here to fight.”

“Those Musketeers who attacked you, would you know any of them again?” Aramis asked, looking at D’Artagnan.

“No, they all wore masks,” D’Artagnan said, letting go of his sword.

Elizabeth sighed, swearing softly. She pressed her lips together and leant on the back of a chair, hanging her head down.

“I shot one of them,” D’Artagnan said suddenly, looking at them. “His body might still be there at the inn.”

Elizabeth stood up, looking at Aramis. He nodded, looking at Porthos.

“All right, saddle up,” Porthos said. “We’re leaving.” “This morning, you try and kill them, and now you’re best friends?” Constance asked, frowning.

“Athos’s life is at stake,” Aramis explained as D’Artagnan grabbed his stuff. “He’s to be executed in the morning for crimes he didn’t commit.” He lifted his hat, looking at Bonacieux. “Forgive the intrusion, Monsieur.”

* * *

**~ 0 ~**

* * *

The winter wind was stinging Elizabeth’s cheeks as she cantered through the snow-covered forests of the outskirts of Paris. She was tightly wrapped up in her woollen cloak, hands encased in leather gloves to try and keep some warmth in.

D’Artagnan was leading the way to the inn, riding ahead on his horse, Aramis and Porthos following behind, Elizabeth right at the back. The inn wasn’t far from Paris – merely a few hours away – but the inn itself probably didn’t get that much traffic considering it was on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in particular.

D’Artagnan slowed down, raising a hand. Elizabeth slowed her horse down, shushing him as he neighed indignantly at having his run cut short. The Gascon jumped down and disappeared inside the inn in a search for the innkeeper.

Elizabeth jumped down from her horse, rubbing her hands together furiously against the harsh winter chill. “I hate the cold,” she muttered, jumping up and down a few times.

Aramis huffed a chuckle, shaking his head. He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back, before putting it back on his head. “Is there any season you do like?”

Elizabeth pondered his question for a moment whilst rubbing her gloved hands together furiously. “End of summer beginning of autumn,” she eventually replied. “It’s still warm but it’s also chilly enough to wear my doublet and not get all sweaty.”

“You’ve given that some thought.”

“I know.”

D’Artagnan whistled at them as he emerged from the inn, nodding his hand to tell them to follow him. He waited until they were closer before he began walking and talking. “The Innkeeper hasn’t had a chance to bury him yet – the grounds been frozen solid. He got someone to dig a whole this morning but hasn’t filled it in yet,” D’Artagnan explained, pointing to the pile of dirt near a tree.

“How long ago did this happen?” Elizabeth asked, stepping over a fallen branch.

“Two, three days ago,” D’Artagnan replied.

The body had been unceremoniously dumped in the grave, exposed to the elements. The Innkeeper hadn’t wrapped it up in any cloth – a blessing and a curse – and had made no effort to give the man any kind of decency after death.

Not that he deserved any, anyway.

Porthos crouched down at the top of the grave and frowned. “He’s no musketeer,” he said.

D’Artagnan leaned forward a bit, crouching down next to Porthos. “Look at his clothes,” he said, pointing at the leather doublet the man was wearing. “There’s two bullet holes.”

Elizabeth nodded. “So?”

D’Artagnan looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “I only fired once.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to frown. Without waiting for Aramis or Porthos, she slid down into the grave, being careful not to step on the body. She lifted the doublet away from the body, revealing a bloody wound.

“This is the shot that killed him,” Elizabeth said, glancing up at Aramis and Porthos. “Straight in the chest. That was a good shot,” she added, looking at D’Artagnan.

“Thanks?” D’Artagnan said, a questioning tone to his reply.

“And the other shot, Elizabeth?” Aramis asked, urging her back on track.

“Ah, yes.” Elizabeth moved the doublet away where the other bullet hole was and frowned. She moved the body’s shirt and checked around it for any sign of a scar, wound, anything. “Nothing,” she said, leaning back on her haunches. “No scar, no wound, no bruise – absolutely nothing to show for that bullet wound.”

“Meaning he wasn’t wearing the uniform when it was fired,” Aramis summarised. “Someone else was.”

“Cornet,” Aramis finished, sighing. “Those musketeers didn’t just disappear, they were attacked.”

Aramis and Porthos leant down, each holding a hand out to Elizabeth. She took them and let the men pull her out of the grave, dusting herself down once she was out.

“If they were attacked, their bodies will probably still be somewhere,” Elizabeth said as they walked back towards their horses. “They didn’t make it to Chartres, which means the bodies have to be somewhere between Paris and there. And since they were attacked, they’re not likely to be near Paris or any main roads.”

“We’ll start at Chartres and ride back towards Paris from there,” Aramis said, mounting his horse. “They’ve got to be somewhere.”

Elizabeth urged her horse on into a walk, silent as she tried to think. “Wait, wait, wait,” she called, pulling her horse to an abrupt stop (D’Artagnan had to turn his horse to the side to avoid riding into her).

Aramis sighed, turning to look at her. “Elizabeth, come on, we don’t have time for this.”

“Aramis shut up for a minute, I know it’s difficult for you,” Elizabeth muttered, closing her eyes.

Aramis rolled his eyes, sharing an exasperated glance with Porthos. Porthos shrugged, used to Elizabeth’s sudden moments of realisation to be too concerned.

“They won’t be near Chartres because someone would’ve noticed by now,” Elizabeth said suddenly, eyes still shut. “And they won’t be near Paris because that road is used too much.” She opened her eyes and looked at Aramis and Porthos.

“So, they’ve got to be between here and the edge of the forest.” Porthos nodded. “That valley would be the perfect place to attack.”

“Precisely,” Elizabeth finished, urging her horse into a trot, Porthos hot on her heels, leaving Aramis and D’Artagnan behind.

“Does she do that often?” D’Artagnan asked, looking at Aramis.

Aramis chuckled as he turned his horse around. “Depends on which thing you’re referring too. Insulting us is a daily occurrence. Actually, using her brain… well, that doesn’t happen as often.”


End file.
